Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 08 (27 page)

"Or maybe you went over to the Flamingo Motel to do a little business," I said, forcing myself to bear down on him despite my inherent aversion to lice and everything about him. "Maybe you wanted to find out how to increase ticket sales by adding more circles or arranging for another explosion across the creek." I poked him in the chest. "You didn't know that Dr. Sageman was dead, did you? You put Marjorie in the truck and drove over to see if he had any new suggestions. When the deputy drove away and folks started prowling all over the parking lot, you thought you'd better wait to see what happened. Marjorie decided to go see for herself." I poked him again, this time nearly hard enough to send him off the edge of the porch. "Then the deputy returned and you hightailed it back to your shack. Sure enough, Deputy Whitbread showed up a few minutes later and asked you to coax Marjorie out of the motel room."

He held up his hands. "I don't know nuthin' about that, specially the explosion. I liked to jump out of my skin."

"Listen up, Raz Buchanon, those crop circles didn't simply appear one night in your field. I already know that Brian Quint came to Maggody a few weeks back. He drove all around town until he spotted the perfect site and someone who was shifty and degenerate enough to go along with his scheme. He told you how to construct the crop circles, didn't he?"

"It may have been something like that," Raz whined into his whiskers. "But it weren't illegal, Arly. I never said that there was flying saucers out in the field. Iffen folks wanted to have a look for themselves, they were free to do it." He sent an arch of tobacco juice toward the field and tried to look remorseful. "Not free, mebbe, but nobody made 'em pay."

"How'd you make the circles?"

"I went along the other side of the fence and propped a ladder on the top strand. Then I crawled down the rungs into the field, strapped boards on my feet, and started walking in circles. That young feller told me about putting a stick in the middle and holding on to a string so's the circles would be round. I measured the strings real careful before I started." He hooked his thumb beneath his overall strap and puffed up like a bedraggled rooster. "I did a goddamn good job, too. Fooled you, dint I?"

"You sure did, Raz. You also fooled the tabloid reporters, the representatives from UFORIA, the woman from the television station in Farberville, and Dr. McMasterson, to name a few."

"And that Sageman feller," he added with a cackle. "He promised to talk about me at some conference in Texas next month. He had slides of me and Marjorie that he was gonna show, and he even said he might write about me in a book. The only book that you ever find the Buchanon name is a family Bible, and that ain't common."

"Then Sageman didn't realize the crop circles were faked?" I asked, surprised. "Why did you go to talk to him last night?"

"I went to get my money from Quint. I dint hear till this morning how the aliens murdered him out by the low-water bridge. You catch 'em yet?"

"I'm getting close," I said, then went back to my car. His assertion that he hadn't done anything illegal was apt to be true. Fraud was a factor, but he'd never claimed that extraterrestrials (or Intraterrestrials) had made the circles. Somewhere in the Constitution is the inalienable right to make fools of ourselves by jumping on whatever bandwagon we wish. All Raz had done was charge a small fee for the privilege. It paled in comparison with what McMasterson, Sageman, and scores of others had been doing for decades.

I suppose Abraham Lincoln was right when he claimed you can't fool all of the people all of the time. Then again, he'd never come to Maggody.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Brother Verber licked the stamp and reverently placed it on the envelope. He wished he knew the zip code for the Vatican, but surely those Italian postmen would know where John Paul's house was, him being the pope and all. He didn't know how much postage he needed either. It'd be mighty embarrassing if his letter arrived with a few pennies due, but the Catholic Church had so much money they had boxes of it in the basement and gold fixtures in all the bathrooms (or so he'd heard from a Baptist preacher over in Berryville who'd seen a movie called Nasty Habits three times).

He made sure his return address was easy to read, then said a little prayer concerning future financial prosperity and tucked the envelope in his pocket. He'd been so busy with his letter that he'd kinda forgotten about Brother Jim Bob's call earlier. Now he got up from the dinette and gave the matter his full and undivided attention while he poured a glass of wine and stood at the window, watching a haggard dog slink across the grass and disappear behind the Assembly Hall. According to Brother Jim Bob, Sister Barbara had done much the same, except in her car, of course.

Absently sucking a drop of wine off his lip, Brother Verber thought about her plight. Maybe having to face the possibility of destitution and disgrace had driven her away to live out her final days in desolate, tacky motel rooms without cable. Or even worse, she might become a bag lady who wheeled her pitiful possessions in a grocery cart from garbage can to garbage can, subsisting on moldy bread crusts and limp lettuce leaves. Her skin would grow wrinkled, her hair gray and scraggly, and her body so skinny that her breasts would shrivel up like empty burlap bags.

He battled back tears as he refilled his glass. She'd come to him for advice, and he'd flat out failed her. It was as much his fault as it was Brother Jim Bob's that her breasts someday would no longer be a glorious tribute to God's handiwork (comparable to round ripe melons such as your catawbas and honeydews).

He sat down on the sofa to pray for guidance and a little help remembering the exact details of what Sister Barbara had said about Jim Bob's plummet into perdition. Guidance was not forthcoming, but he finally pulled together most of the conversation.

The root of evil in this case was Raz Buchanon's still up on Cotter's Ridge. If there wasn't any still, there wouldn't be any moonshine. If there wasn't any moonshine, Jim Bob wouldn't be able to deliver it, and there wouldn't be any revenue agents wanting to seize Sister Barbara's cherished possessions. She'd return all bright-eyed and bushytailed and brimming with eagerness to aid him in his war against Satan. Her honeydews would inspire them into every battle.

He'd found the still in the past. The situation had been awkward, but there wasn't any time to dwell on it (although Sister Barbara had looked real fetching in that scarlet nightie and cute panties, not to forget the peekaboo bra with the tantalizing black strap straying down her satiny shoulder).

Brother Verber told himself that all he had to do to save saintly Sister Barbara was to go find the still and make sure he destroyed it once and for all. He drained the glass and rose unsteadily to his feet. He was almost to the door of the rectory when he had a less pleasant memory of the incident on the ridge when he'd rustled up a skunk with a real poor attitude. He detoured to his bedroom and collected his raincoat and boots, then put on the plastic pith helmet, just in case.

Humming "Onward Christian Soldiers" to strengthen his resolve, he marched out to his car. Like the post office, he was committed to deliver rain or shine. In his case he'd deliver eternal salvation rather than picture postcards and reminders from the rural electric cooperative.

I headed out to the north end of town to make sure Harve's boys were photographing and fingerprinting the guilty car. As I approached the SuperSaver, however, I braked so abruptly I was nearly rear-ended by a dump truck and swerved into the parking lot.

Eula Lemoy, Elsie Buchanon, and Lottie Estes stood in a line on the sidewalk beneath the overhang. Each held a cardboard sign attached to a stick (broom, yard, and hickory, respectively). The words were written in the impeccable penmanship of a schoolteacher, and offered the same sentiment: DON'T BUY GROCERIES FROM A MOONSHINER!

I rolled down the car window. "How y'all doing?"

"Fine, thank you," Eula said without turning her head. "How are you today?"

"Fine." I finally pried my hands off the steering wheel and got out of the car to join them, although I made sure I stayed out of whacking range. "If you don't mind me asking, what's this about?"

Eula smiled grimly. "As any fool can see, we're picketing the supermarket." Farther down the line Elsie and Lottie nodded in agreement.

"Jim Bob may not be an ideal role model, but he's not a moonshiner," I said.

"I happen to know for a fact that he's delivering moonshine all across the county," Eula countered. "Lottie heard it from Mrs. Jim Bob's own lips, and they were in the House of the Lord at the time."

Lottie's smile was no less grim. "We are doing our civic duty by letting the God-fearing citizens of this town know about it."

"So they won't go spending money in an establishment owned by a sinner," added Elsie. "It's our obligation as Christians to battle demon whiskey."

No cars were pulling into the lot, but I suspected the rain was doing more to deter potential shoppers than the three self-righteous demonstrators. Through the plate glass I could see the sinner under discussion. He had the look of a starving piranha in a fishbowl as he stared out at us.

I hastily said, "What did Mrs. Jim Bob say that led you to believe her husband's running moonshine?"

"He's been going up to Cotter's Ridge at night," Eula said. "She followed him, but she lost him on the trail that goes to the still."

"She did?" I said, recalling the conversation I'd had with her after church. It made a lot more sense, even if her assumption made none at all.

"It's about time you got here," Jim Bob snarled as he came out the door. "These women are disrupting my business and trespassing! I want you to file criminal charges and get them the hell off my property." He stabbed his finger at Eula Lemoy. "If I've a mind to, I can file a civil suit for libel."

"Slander is the correct term," Lottie informed him with the perfect degree of superciliousness to escalate the situation seriously.

I got in front of her before we had a demonstration of bodily assault. "If you're not helping Raz with his deliveries, then what have you been doing on the ridge at night? Courting Bigfoot?"

He chewed on his lip, then caught my arm and dragged me away from the demonstrators. "I went up there to investigate those orange lights," he said in a low voice, glancing everywhere but at me. "I was thinking I could make a fortune if I captured one of the aliens. I'd parade it on shows like X-Files and Good Morning America and eventually sell it to some outfit like Sageman's foundation for enough money to retire to Florida." I gave him an admiring look. "It was pretty brave of you to go there alone. I'd have been scared the alien might have turned me into a very small pile of ashes."

"Roy and Larry Joe went with me, and we took shotguns. A dead one wouldn't have been worth as much as a live one, but we figured we'd come out okay."

"Did you go there last night?"

"Roy and me did. Larry Joe's wife had some screwy notion that Bigfoot was in their yard, and she wouldn't let him set foot out of the house. We tromped around for a couple of hours, but we didn't find anything."

"And went to Roy's to sit around and congratulate yourselves?" I suggested.

"I just said we didn't find anything, dammit."

"I didn't say you did." I went over to the women, who'd been watching our private discussion with intense interest. "I'm afraid that you really are trespassing on Jim Bob's property. I'm all for you continuing to picket, but you'll have to go down to the edge of the road."

"In the rain?" Eula said with a gasp. "We'll get drenched, and none of us can have her hair done till Estelle turns up. Why, I'm presiding over a tea for the Veterans' Auxiliary on Wednesday."

"I have a wedding tomorrow morning," said Lottie.

"I'm recovering from a head cold," added Elsie, coughing delicately.

"I guess that's a sacrifice you'll have to make in order to do your duty as God-fearing Christians," I said as I got back in my car. I looked in my rearview mirror as I drove away. Hizzoner stayed on the sidewalk, a worried expression marring his already unattractive face. The demonstration appeared to be over, at least until the sun came out.

Instead of going north, I drove to the Flamingo Motel and found Les, who was huddled in the doorway of No. 5. I ascertained that the current residents of the other units were safely stashed in their respective rooms, went inside to get the tape recorder, and then went to the door of Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill. The Closed sign was in place, but I continued inside.

The lights were off, and it took me a minute to spot Ruby Bee on the end stool. "Did you find her?" she asked in a dispirited voice.

"Not yet. I need you to do something for me." I set down the tape recorder and two plastic cassettes. "I listened to most of the first tape. Finish listening to it, then put in the second tape. If you hear anything besides Sageman, Dahlia, and Rosemary spouting nonsense, make a note of where it is in the tape so you can tell me later."

"How's that gonna help Estelle?"

"Trust me on this. By the way, do you know who Reggie Pellitory is dating?"

"Darla Jean McIlhaney. Her ma's dead set against it, but she can't seem to put a stop to it. Estelle said Millicent has grown so many gray hairs that coloring them was worse than painting an old barn. Darla Jean's pa is threatening to send her away to live with her aunt in Cedar Rapids. That's in Iowa, I think. Millicent wasn't sure."